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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424688">how wide, how deep, how much</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/arwyd/pseuds/arwyd'>arwyd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>in those whose footsteps i follow (i have never danced so treacherously) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aerys Is His Own Warning, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe-Everyone Dies and Elia lives, Canon-Typical Violence, Elia Martell Deserves Better, Elia Martell Lives, Elia lives, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I want you all to know how angry I am that the Aegon VI tag was replaced by Aegon son of Elia one, Implied Violence, Jaime Lannister Deserves Better, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Off-screen death, if you call Jon Snow Aegon DO NOT INTERACT, not beta read I like to live dangerously, ranting in the tags just because I can</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:08:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/arwyd/pseuds/arwyd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It all happens in a matter of moments, the news. Like the flash of a fire, Elia thinks dazedly, as she sees Ser Jaime stand back from the body of Aerys. </p><p>“Ser Jaime, what happened here?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jaime Lannister &amp; Elia Martell, implied Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>in those whose footsteps i follow (i have never danced so treacherously) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the game is changed (Elia I)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>“And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.”<br/>Kurt Vonnegut, <i>Slaughterhouse Five</i></p>
</div><hr/>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rhaegar is dead. Robert is dead. Aerys is dead. </p>
<p>It all happens in a matter of moments, the news. Like the flash of a fire, Elia thinks dazedly, as she sees Ser Jaime stand back from the body of Aerys. </p>
<p>Clutching the message that had been slipped under her doorstep, as this was the only way for her to get news in her confinement, she stares at the scene in front of her. Well. That both clears up and confuses everything. </p>
<p>“Ser Jaime, what happened here?” Her voice is cool, distant. Unbothered. As if she were asking about the weather or something else of equally trivial importance. </p>
<p>Jaime looks at her, terrified, and it punches her in the gut, just how <i>young</i> he is. <i>He is only seventeen...</i> she finds herself thinking distantly. <i>He is too young for such responsibilities, too young to have seen such things as these.</i> </p>
<p>“Princess.” The title comes out as a choked sob, and he runs his hand through his hair, not noticing or not caring about the blood now in it. “The king... he was going to set the city alight with wildfire. He said that the only thing he intended to leave the rebels to rule over was ashes. That... that the only people who would survive are the true dragons.” <i>Of which he does not believe your children to be,</i> lay heavily implied.</p>
<p>Elia nodded. Yes, that certainly sounded like the mad king she knew. “I see. Well, then, I suppose that’s that.” </p>
<p>Ser Jaime just gaped at her. “What... what happens now?” </p>
<p>That was a very good and fair question, and one which Elia did not completely have an answer for. </p>
<p><i>’Yes you do,’</i> whispered a quiet voice in the back of her head that sounded alarmingly like her mother. Loreza Martell had ruled Dorne well and justly for more than twenty years; she was well beloved throughout the country. While many people could speak to her charm and smile, only a select number of unlucky few could speak to the Valyrian steel of her spine, the iron in her voice. Fewer yet of those people had felt comfortable speaking of the event after witnessing it, such was the undisputed power of Loreza Martell. For all her charm, Loreza Martell was a velvet glove over an iron fist. </p>
<p>Targaryens ruled Dorne in name; Martells ruled Dorne in truth. </p>
<p><i>And now you and your son and daughter are both,</i> her mother’s voice whispered. <i>What shall you do about it?</i> </p>
<p>“Ser Jaime.” Elia broke the silence, and she could barely recognize her own voice. It sounded strong, confident, hard; it sounded like her mother’s. “Follow me, please. I’m afraid we have much to do, and very little time to do it in.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the first pieces are set (Elia II/Jaime I)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Elia and Jaime move quickly in their plan to secure the Red Keep, and Aegon’s reign.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>“First, we get the children. And then we find Varys.” </p><p>“Varys?” Ser Jaime choked out. “My lady, are... are you quite sure?” </p><p>Elia nodded, hoping her face expressed a surety she herself did not completely feel. If she let herself doubt now, she would be lost. “I am, Ser. Varys has been heard to proclaim more than once that he works for the realm. Never once did he say that he works for the King, or the Targaryens. The realm, as a whole. Aerys has always assumed that he and the realm were one.” She paused, hoping the young golden knight did not see her chewing on her lip. “I am hopeful he will realize crowning Aegon, and allowing for a long regency, will be in the best interest of the realm, instead of allowing this war to continue on with no purpose, and instead of allowing Viserys to be crowned.” </p><p>Ser Jaime paled at the thought of the six year old, crowned king. Unlike with Rhaegar, Aerys had paid plenty of attention to his second son. Too much, perhaps. Could Targaryen madness catch? Ser Jaime found himself wondering, before shaking his head. Could a six year old’s fate be chosen already? Perhaps it was best not to think too hard on the subject, for the moment. </p><p>“But, Princess, how do you plan to persuade him that crowning Aegon <i>is</i> in the best interest of the realm?” Jaime persisted. He nearly ran into her as she stopped suddenly. “Ser.” And there it was, that unfamiliar tone of voice, cold and hard. He had only heard it from her a handful of times- when she had addressed Rhaegar after he had crowned the Stark girl at Harrenhal, and after Rhaegar had taken the girl and answered his father’s summons to war, and the Princess had been required to greet him with the court. “Are you with me or not, Ser Jaime?” </p><p>How could she ask that? This woman, who was one of the few people who understood the things he had seen these months, who understood why he had had to kill Aerys. Who had given him a chance and never commented on the blood on his white cloak when anyone else would have commanded he run himself through with his own sword. </p><p>“Princess,” Jaime answered truthfully, “I am with you, for as long as you will have me.” </p><p>Princess Elia smiled at him, and in that moment, he understood why the Martell sigil was a sun. </p><p>(He did not, for a second, forget about the spear.)</p>
<hr/><p>They gather Rhaenys without incident—Yana Velaryon was one of the few ladies Aerys had allowed Elia to keep, given that the Velaryons were as loyal to the Targaryens as they came—and she carried the young princess, the two a startling contrast between dark and light. </p><p>(Jaime allows himself to hope that all will be well, that Princess Elia’s plan will prevail. His hope is shattered when they walk in to the nursery and see Prince Aegon—<i>King</i> Aegon now he supposed—in the arms of The Spider.)</p><p>Jaime didn’t even think about it, just stalked forward, hand on his hilt, when Elia flung her arm out. “I appreciate your enthusiasm in protecting your rightful king, Ser Jaime, but there is no need for violence.” <i>Yet</i> remains unsaid, but Jaime hears it. He knows The Spider must as well, for the man’s small, simping smile becomes a large grin. </p><p>“My lady... Princess... Queen..? Regent...? What is your title these days?” Varys asked, shifting the young prince gently in his arms. Aegon let out a small sniffle, but otherwise did not complain at the treatment. </p><p>Jaime’s fingers itched to grab his sword and register his own complaint, the Martell princess could tell. But he held back, and for that, she was grateful. </p><p>“The title I was born with will do just fine.” Elia replied coolly, her eyes never leaving her infant son. “A Princess of Dorne does not cease to be a Princess of Dorne just because her husband has died.” </p><p>“Indeed.” Varys and Elia stared at each other, analyzing one another. “I must say, Princess, grabbing the children was a smart move.” </p><p>Elia gave an outraged, disbelieving laugh. “How could I not? They are my children. They have come from my body. I love them with every fiber of my being and beyond.” </p><p>“Ah, yes, love. It does tend to complicate things, does it not? I’ve never quite understood the need for it, myself. It makes things... messy.” </p><p>Elia’s smile is hot and barbed and not at all friendly when she answers the Master of Whispers. “I can understand why you would think that, my lord, given your tragic childhood where love only ever served to bring you pain and hurt, but it is not that way for all. There are many types of love. The kind of love a man has for a woman, of course, and given the current state of Westeros I wouldn’t hesitate to agree that that sort can be messy. But is there not the love between neighbors, who returns a cow when one has wandered in to their pasture and it is not rightly theirs? Is there not love between a shepherd and his flock? Is there not love for the beautiful lands we are blessed to occupy, when you see all the Seven have granted us?”

She paused and took a breathe, and Jaime nearly found himself leaning in; he had not know she had ‘enthralling orator’ listed under her admittedly large list of attributes. “I can personally attest to the love between sisters and brothers, for I know I would die or kill for my brothers. I can also tell you of the love between friends, for whom I would do the very same. Did I not insist on Lady Dayne leaving, before the king could learn she carried a Stark child? Did it not nearly kill me to send the sister of my soul away during the time I needed her most? I did though, all out of love.” Another pause: this time, the Daughter of Dorne licked her lips briefly, like farmers in the desert, preserving moisture where they could. “But let me tell you about the most powerful, most dangerous type of love, my lord. It is the love of a parent for a child. That, truly, is why Westeros was ripped apart. Not over Robert Baratheon’s damaged pride. Over Rickard Stark’s love for his child. And the love of a child for a parent is just as strong. And that’s why Eddard Stark helped tear these kingdoms asunder. But there is, of course, another sort of love as well that we have not yet covered.” </p><p>Here, Elia turned just slightly to look at the young golden knight who still stood in front of Rhaenys and Yanna, ready to give his life. <i>He is a true knight, for all I did not think they existed outside of Dorne.</i> “Ser Jaime, you know love, correct?”</p><p>The Lannister boy slid his eyes over her way, just for a moment, before returning them to Varys. “I do, Princess.” </p><p>“You have love for your brother?” </p><p>“Without a doubt.” </p><p>“You have love for your father?”</p><p>“As any good son does.” </p><p>“You have love for the memory of your mother?” </p><p>“Yes, Princess.” She could hear the faint echoes of pain in his voice as he answered, but it came out strong and unwavering. </p><p>“And without any question you love your twin, Cersei.” </p><p>“As one would love their right arm, I imagine.” </p><p>“Even I can see how fond the young Ser is of his lovely twin, Princess.” Varys looked directly at him when he said this, and Jaime’s heart launched itself into his throat. <i>Does he know?</i> </p><p>The Spider, Jaime decided, had just outlived any potential usefulness.</p><p>Elia simply glared at the man. “Ser Jaime, do you love the realm?” </p><p>“My... my lady? I do not understand the question.” </p><p>“Jaime, why did you kill the king?” </p><p><i>Of all the damning things to admit to in front of this man...</i> “He’d just discovered news of Rhaegar’s death, Your Grace. He was frothing mad. He said he would burn the city to the ground and let the rebels rule over ashes. That fire couldn’t hurt him, that he was a true dragon. He’d sent the pyromancer with the orders. Oh. You’ll find the pyromancer’s body hidden behind the statue of Baelor the Blessed. But I just... I couldn’t let him hurt all these people. These people who have suffered enough at his hands! I am a knight! I swore to protect the innocent before I ever swore to protect the King!” He’s yelling at the end, Jaime realizes faintly, and trembling too. </p><p>The Princess and the Spider do not seem too upset by his raised voice. If anything, Princess Elia looks at him with empathy and sadness, while Varys has the world’s smallest smile on his face. Varys is proud of him, Jaime realizes with a start. </p><p>He is proud of him for saving King’s Landing. </p><p>The children, however, do object to<br/>
Jaime’s passionate tone. Rhaenys starts to sniffle into Yana’s hair, and the  prince—King now, he must remember that—lets out a piercing wail. </p><p>At this, Varys grimaces. He’s never been a fan of screaming children. He hands Aegon over to his mother, like a child discarding of a toy they’re bored of. Elia snatches her son greedily and cradles him to her chest, her bosom muffling her babe’s lusty cries. “Well, Princess, you and your Knight have convinced me you are the genuine articles. Now, pray tell, how do you propose to save your son’s reign from ending before it has truly ever even begun?” </p><p>Elia smiles sharply, all spear and no sun, yet still, Jaime is blinded just the same.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ask and ye shall receive! I have a vague idea where I want the story to go. Unfortunately I think the next few chapters are going to be filler/builder chapters, but we’ll get to the fun stuff, I promise! </p><p>I wouldn’t be opposed to some feedback on Elia’s speech. It was originally a giant block of text, and I wanted to kind of break it up and make it easier to read. Did I do okay there?</p><p>Also, I’m not necessarily looking for a beta, per say; but if someone wanted to volunteer to kind of help me flesh this out a bit, I would be forever thankful! </p><p>Anyway, come scream with me over on my tumblr at <a>arwyd</a>, or at my tumblr dedicated solely to my fanfics, at <a>arwydao3</a>”! </p><p>let me know what you think! </p><p>♡ arwyd</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. interlude I (Arril)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Announcements are made, and we learn just how Elia received the note informing her of the events at the Battle of The Trident.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arril leaned on his forearms, watching the ravens fly into the night. A half moon lit the sky, and so his eyes were able to follow them for quite a distance as they flew over the roofs of cobblers and tavern owners and merchants and whores, past the City Walls, to wherever their destination may be. </p><p>Normally, the Rookery was not a place he lingered, the smell of bird shit not one he particularly enjoyed. He did tonight, however. He had been crouched over his writing desk for nearly an entire day, writing enough copies of the missive he had just sent out so that every House, Institution and Town received three of them. </p><p>His hand ached fiercely. And his job was only half done. </p><p>For a moment, Arril considered the future. Prince—no, King now—Aegon now sat the throne. Or, rather, Elia Martell sat in his stead.</p>
<hr/>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Due to the death of the King, <b>King Aerys Targaryen,</b> after discovering the news of his son and Rightful Heir’s death,<b>Prince Rhaegar Targaryen</b>, <b>Princess Elia Nymeros Martell Targaryen, </b> has been proclaimed <b> Regent and Acting Agent of the Crown</b> by all the rightful laws of <b>Gods</b> and <b>Men,</b> in Accordance with the Laws and Traditions of the <b>Seven Kingdoms</b>.</i>
  </p>
</div><hr/><p>
   Arril stared off into the future for only a moment more, before finding his feet with a groan. His hands and neck cramped something terrible. The kitchens, he thought, for food. And then a little bit of rest. Just a little. He had to finish his mission before Pycelle could figure out what he was about—or where he was, although the man had been fairly distracted since the news came of Rhaegar’s demise. Princess Elia had been very clear that as she issued her instructions; he was to do it all as slyly as possible. She had summoned him as the morning bled into a warm autumn afternoon, while the golden Kingsguard knight hovered in the background, standing next to the cradle that held the new King.
  </p>
<hr/><p>
      <i>”Cousin,” the Princess had greeted him warmly, and Arril had to blink back the shock. While it was true they were related—Arril was related to them through their father’s side—that Princess Elia remembered him at all was something of a miracle. The relation was a distant thing; Elia’s father, Lord Andros Gargalen, had an older and baseborn half-brother. Arril was that man’s grandson, himself baseborn though his namesake—Arril the Elder, as it were—had married a minor Dalt daughter and taken the name for his own, passing it on to his children. Arril’s father, Garris Dalt, had sired him on a Gargalen cousin named Cedra, and while the schematics of it were a little confusing, all involved parties agreed that Arril was a Gargalen bastard, and he therefore belonged at the Salt Shore.</i>
  </p><p>
      <i>Arril wasn’t like the other boys at Salt Shore. He didn’t care for swords, and he didn’t dream of sailing the high seas and fighting pirates. So, at the age of thirteen, Arril asked his Lord Uncle Tremond for permission to study at the Citadel. His Uncle had acquiesced, promised to pay for his expenses within reason, and he had left the next month.</i>
  </p><p>
    <i>
      He had been there for a year when Elia married the Prince, and then for a year more when he was assigned to King’s Landing, to learn under the Grand Maester himself.
    </i>
  </p><p>
    <i>
      He’d been so proud, he had. Arril was one of the top in his class and had already forged two links. He thought he’d earned it.
    </i>
  </p><p>
    <i>
      It hadn’t been until a message from his Uncle Tremond had arrived, as tensions rose in the Capital, that Arril put the pieces together.
      </i></p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><i>Nephew,</i><br/>
<i>Do be sure to keep an eye on your Cousin, and see that she is treated in a manner befitting her station.<br/>
Keep me appraised of the situation.</i></p>
</blockquote><br/><p>
    <i>He had been despondent for weeks, until the Prince ran away with the Stark girl and the already Mad King grew even madder. His Cousin was often confined to her quarters, and suddenly, a well of rage and courage unlike any he had ever known sprouted in him. Elia was a Princess of Dorne, of the blood of Nymeria and Mors! Pycelle had never paid him any mind except to bark orders at him; indeed, the man thought he was the bastard of a Reacher house, and sometimes it panged Arril, that others could no longer hear the drawl of Dorne in his voice, that he had refined his speech too well. However, this came with the added benefit of not being watched like the other Dornishmen in the castle—and then not sent away.</i>
  </p><p><i>So Arril kept his head down. He talked to few, trusted even fewer, did his work, only flirted with the maids whose payroll he knew they were on, and bid his time.</i> </p><p>
    <i>It had been he who unsealed the raven that revealed both the Storm Lord and Prince of Dragonstone were dead. He’d brought the information to Pycelle right away, of course—who had gazed at the note with wide eyes and scurried to send a raven of his own, oddly enough—giving Arril enough time to make himself scarce.</i>
  </p><p>
    <i>He’d slipped a note to the woman who had followed Ser Lewyn Martell to Dorne so long ago, who had been on Princess Loreza’s payroll and been in the Red Keep so long people had forgotten she was Dornish, and hoped the note made it to Princess Elia.</i>
  </p>
<hr/><p>Clearly, the note had made it to its intended target. Stretching, Arril left the Rookery, and headed towards the kitchens. He would grab some bread and cheese, and head back to his rooms. </p><p>Perhaps he should grab some food for Bax too, he thought, his face suddenly feeling very warm. When his fellow acolyte had stumbled on him desperately trying to make as many copies as the situation demanded and offered his help, Arril could have nearly cried with relief. The charismatic boy, normally one to joke as they worked, had churned out the announcements with more determination than the Dornish boy could ever recall seeing. </p><p>Yes. Food for Bax. It was the least he could do, after all, and if his face somehow flamed harder at the thought, it’s not as though the few ravens that were left would tell anybody. Food, and then they would pump out the next round of announcements. Then Arril could finally get some sleep. (And if a part of him maybe hoped that he wouldn’t be doing it alone, well... who could possibly know but him?)</p>
<hr/>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
      <i>By Proclamation of the Office of the <b> Regent and Acting Agent of The Crown</b></i>
    </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
      <i><b>Princess Elia Nymeros Martell Targaryen</b> daughter of <b>Princess Loreza Nymeros Martell</b> and <b>Lord Andar Gargalen</b>, lawfully wedded wife of <b>Prince Rhaegar Targaryen</b></i>
    </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
      <i>Lawful Regent to His Highness, <b>King Aegon VI Targaryen,</b> of the Houses Martell and Targaryen, </i>
    </p>
</div><div class="center"><p>
      <i>Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,  Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,</i>
    </p>
<p></p><div class="center"><p>
        <i>Hereby calls for a ceasefire as to the War that has Wrought our Kingdom so terribly Apart.</i>
      </p></div><div class="center"><p>
        <i>All men, lords and commoners alike, are called to lay down their arms. Do so, and you shall be granted a royal pardon. Continue to wage war, however, and face severe consequences.</i>
      </p></div><div class="center"><p>
        <i>Signed,</i>
      </p></div><div class="center"><p>
        <i>
          <b>Princess Elia Nymeros Martell Targaryen</b>
        </i>
      </p></div><div class="center"><p>
        <i>
          <b>Acting Agent of the Crown</b>
        </i>
      </p></div><div class="center"><p>
        <i>
          <b>and </b>
        </i>
      </p></div><div class="center"><p>
        <i><b>Regent</b> to her son</i>
      </p></div><div class="center"><p>
        <i>
          <b>King Aegon VI Targaryen</b>
        </i>
      </p></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <s>did I write an entire chapter just around a tiny little piece of foreshadowing? yes, yes I did.</s>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Kingslayer (Jaime I)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i>I am a knight of the Kingsguard. I should not be crying.</i> Nevertheless, the tears came. They fall like rain on the Sunset Sea during the monsoon season. The tears fall and they fall and they do not stop until he has been bled dry.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y’all! Sorry it’s been so long since my last update! I had hand surgery and then tore a tendon in my foot all the way up my calf so I have had exactly zero motivation to do anything! I wrote this chapter about twelve different ways! </p><p>Enjoy, and thanks for sticking with me! </p><p>Also: just a quick notice that I did update and change some chapter names a few weeks ago so  if that set off anyone’s alerts for this fic my bad</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the Princess’s (very) distant bastard cousin bows and blushes, Jaime, for the first time, allowed his mind to wander. </p><p>“Arril.” Elia warmly greeted the gangly novice, who looked to be somewhere around ten-and-seven. Jaime did not listen to the lad’s reply—his experiences with the waspish grey wretches that called themselves maesters had never been positive, and he avoided them at all costs. There had first been Maester Weldan, who had delivered him and Cersei, and called him stupid when he struggled to read. Maester Weldan had grown so flustered as Jaime had tried to describe how the letters seemed to dance around on the page that he had taken to beating his hands with a switch whenever he failed his reading assignments, and berated him as lazy. </p><p>Maester Weldan had met a most unfortunate accident (that Jaime was sure was no accident at all) after the death of his mother, however, and the young Lannister heir had not mourned him. </p><p>Maester Creylen had been the man’s replacement, and Jaime would have been fairly neutral toward him had he not noticed the way the man’s eyes followed Cersei, his <i>willingness</i> to examine her body when she complained of her cycles and other average bodily aches and pains. The only reason Jaime had not followed in his Father’s footsteps when it came to disposing of troublesome Maesters was that the man took great care of Tyrion. He had, however, made it known that Cersei was never to be left alone with the man—both to his sister’s maids, and the maester himself. </p><p>The Grand Maester was the worst of all, however. In the beginning Pycelle had hovered over him, speaking in awe of Tywin Lannister, of how it had been him who truly ran Westeros for years, how he had had the strength to do things that needed done. The man took on a groveling tone whenever anyone mentioned Tywin or House Lannister, his voice so saccharine it made Jaime sick, like the time he was ten and Cersei had bet that he couldn’t eat an entire platter of strawberry shortcakes that had been prepared for a feast. Pycelle had been forced to lessen his worship since the Rebellion, however. Instead he just stared at Jaime as they passed each other like ships in the night, his eyes burning as though he was trying to tell him something and for the life of him, he could not figure out what that could be. </p><p>Father would know what Pycelle meant with those intense, focused looks. Or Cersei—she’d tell him what they meant, what he had done to earn them, what they were for, how he should react to them, how to stop them. Hells, even Tyrion would likely understand, his sharp younger brother who even at the tender age of 10 knew so much more than Jaime ever would. </p><p><i>Perhaps they can explain to me what it all meant, after... after all this is over.</i> </p><p>
  <i>If I am not dead for killing the King.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <b>If I am not dead.</b>
  </i>
</p><p>“Ser Jaime, are you quite alright? Your hands are shaking.” Princess Elia asked gently, in a voice she’d once answered Princess Rhaenys in, when the little dragon had looked at her mother with tears hanging off her thick, dark eyelashes and asked her why Grandfather hated her. Jaime remembered that moment well; the way she spoke had reminded him of his own mother, and how she used to speak to him when he was upset. </p><p>He meant to answer her, he really did. A flippant, ‘<i>Of course, Princess, it’s any other day for me</i>.’ But his voice would not unwind itself from the knot that had made its way down his throat, choking him, making tears cloud his vision and his heart beat so fast it reminded him of the time he had caught a hummingbird and it had fought furiously against the cage he had made with his fingers. </p><p><i>If I am not killed for killing the King</i>. </p><p>His hands shook harder. </p><p>“Ser Jaime?” Princess Elia’s voice was harder now, heavier with concern. “Ser Jaime! Please, sit before you faint!” </p><p>
  <i>Oh gods, they’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me they’re going to kill me theyregoingtokillmetheyre...</i>
</p><p>He couldn’t move, his muscles had tensed as if he were in the training yard, awaiting a blow he had let slip pass his guard. Black started to creep in at the edge of his vision; his ears rang as though he stood directly beneath the bells at the Great Sept of Baelor. A maniacal voice screeched and echoed in his head, “<i>Burn them! Burn them all! They took my son, they will not take this city from me too! Fire cannot burn a dragon!</i>” A smell he would never forget invaded his memory, and he thought he would surely retch...</p><p>until something hit him in the chest and  knocked him backwards. </p><p>He fell into the chaise behind him, his armor clinking against the wood trim. The impact on his arse—however slight it had been— brought him back to reality. </p><p>The reality that Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne and Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, had just pushed him over. </p><p>She stood over him, hands on her hips, and while she was by no means the tallest of women he had ever seen, she was tall enough in this moment that she seemed to tower over him. “I believe, Ser, that I told you to sit down.” </p><p>Elia’s voice was stern, like when Rhaenys had been brought to her mother’s room for biting a maid. </p><p>Like how his mother spoke to Cersei and him when she found them that day. No, her voice had been colder, full of disgust, and...</p><p>It’s this thought that finally floods the dam in his eyes. With a sound like he’s choking, tears start pouring out of his eyes.</p><p><i>I am a knight of the Kingsguard. I should not be crying.</i> </p><p>Nevertheless, the tears came. They fall like rain on the Sunset Sea during the monsoon season. The tears fall and they fall and they do not stop until he has been bled dry. </p><p>As his hiccuping subsides, Jaime becomes aware of a faint humming noise. His vision bleeds back slowly in to focus and color. </p><p>The moment the young Lannister realizes what has happened, he starts struggling to sit up, but his armor makes it difficult, and the way he has been draped over his leg has caused it to become occupied by a swarm of bees. Elia Martell Targaryen, Princess of Dorne and the de facto Queen of the Seven Kingdoms for the next fifteen years has somehow maneuvered his head on to her lap, and is smoothing back his hair. </p><p><i>This is so, terribly inappropriate.</i> Jaime thinks, but he cannot find the strength in him to care. To care that someone is reassuring him as no one has since he was a child, to care that he has shown all his weaknesses to the world. <i>Cersei would laugh at me.</i> That thought did not hurt as badly as it usually would. </p><p>If he could not be weak in the face of his own death, when could he? </p><p>“When I was sixteen,” Princess Elia began softly, “I fell in love, truly, for the first time. Do not mistake me, I had had fondness for men before, but... it was nothing quite like this. I had already named our children, in my mind. Edren and Eleza, for surely I would be strong enough to birth two children. Two heirs. They would be perfect.” She paused, wistfulness filling the air around them. “But that was not to be. For my mother had always had grand plans for me, and... it seems, my love had had grand plans for himself. He fell far beyond my reach.” </p><p>The pins in his leg had ceased, but Jaime could not find it in himself to move. It had been a very long time since someone had comforted like this. Since someone had told him a bedtime story that did not ring with the sound of warning bells. </p><p>“What was his name?” </p><p>The resulting sigh dripped off her lips heavily, like the thickest of honey. “It does not matter any more. I have moved on. He... he made his choices. And even when he had the chance to prove himself to me again, he chose another. Duty, the call to greatness... I could understand that. This betrayal runs deeper than the first.” </p><p>Betrayal... yes, Jaime understood betrayal. He had committed one of the greatest ones, to save the lives of thousands. </p><p>The words tumbled out of him before he could stop them. “What’s going to happen to me, Princess?” </p><p>Elia stiffened. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Ser. I won’t let it.” </p><p>“That’s all well and good, Princess, but...” </p><p>“<b>I. Won’t. Let. It.</b>” </p><p>The strength in her voice would have astonished Jaime, if he had tried to match it with the Elia who he thought he knew. The prim and proper wife of a crown prince, always calm, quiet and collected. The Elia he had seen in the past few hours had erased any such notions. She was a woman of strength and perseverance, who took what life threw at her and gave it back tenfold. </p><p>She was Elia Nymeros Martell, Princess of Dorne, Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, and she was unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. </p><p>The silence was broken by the little King, crying out for his mother. Jaime had forgotten that the Princess had laid her babes to sleep in her own bedroom, claiming she would feel better if they were easily in her reach, where she could see and protect and care for them. </p><p>The sky was just starting to lighten, was just past the hour of the wolf. A part of Jaime was surprised the sun had even risen today; to kill a king seemed the sort of event that would invite the disfavored glare of the gods upon the mortal realm. </p><p>“Jaime, you need to rest. When was the last time you slept?” </p><p>The young Lannister turned to face Princess Elia, trying to force himself to seem as awake as possible. “I had three hours sleep yesterday afternoon, Your Grace.” She blinked slowly. “And before that, when was the last time you slept a whole night?” </p><p>Ah, she had been privy to one of Aerys’ favorite sick games, then. He would promise Jaime a night or day’s rest, twelve whole hours off duty, and then retrieve him no more than four hours later. </p><p>He wondered if she knew about the food games he liked to play as well, but didn’t wish to point them out if she had no clue. </p><p>“Lord Velaryon will likely be amenable to lending a few of his household guards to watching us while you rest, Ser. And I am not so defenseless as you may think.” </p><p>“Princess, it is the job of the Kingsguard to watch the King at all times—“ Jaime began.</p><p>“And I do not disagree, Ser, but in case you haven’t noticed, <i>you are the only Kingsguard left to me</i>. I need you in top shape, to continue to protect my son. And you cannot do that if you are asleep on your feet.” Elia breathed in, “Ser, do I need to make this an order?” </p><p>Something like dismay rose in his chest. “No, Your Grace. I will do as you ask.” </p><p>Elia seemed to deflate before his eyes. “Thank you. I insist only because I care about your well-being, Ser.” She paused a brief moment before speaking again, “If it makes you feel better, I can ask my maid to make her chambers available to you, so you are closer in case of danger. I can also have a cot brought to my solar.” </p><p>A wave of relief flooded through him. She understood his upset. “I would appreciate that, Princess.” </p><p>Elia gave him a tiny smile, and Jaime wondered just who was around to order her to bed. </p><p>A maid was called for, and a message dispatched to Lord Lucerys Velaryon. Heaviness seeped through Jaime’s bones as he received the cot. </p><p>Princess Elia grabbed a fair few things from her desk to keep her occupied as he set up the cot, choosing to sleep in the padding that one wore under a suit of armor to prevent sores. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when a jar of quills was knocked over near his head. The Princess rushed over to pick them up, resting on her knees. </p><p>Her voice was so low he almost did not hear it. “Jaime.” </p><p>The young Kingsguard turned over, half asleep, speaking drowsily, “Prin—“</p><p>“Shhh!” Her finger flew to her lips in the universal signal of ‘be quiet.’ Or, as Cersei had coined it once, ‘shut up, you idiot!’ </p><p>His eyes flew open, all seeds of sleep gone from them. She certainly had his attention. </p><p>“Pray do not sleep too deeply, Ser. Aerys was not the only enemy we had in this castle. Lord Velaryon may be a momentary ally, but I have not forgotten how he spoke of Rhaegar.” </p><p>Ah. How could Jaime have forgotten, how that lickspittle had prodded Aerys’ madness and paranoia against his own son? Encouraging him to set his first son aside for his second? Pondering aloud if Princess Rhaenys was even Rhaegar’s get? </p><p>Struggling, Jaime started to get back up, to alleviate this new enemy, only for Princess Elia to gesture him back down and whisper. “We are safe for the moment, Ser. Just be on your guard.” </p><p>Collecting the last of the quills—throwing in a muttered curse about breaking her favorite— Princess Elia stood and strode for the doorway. “Sleep well, Ser.” </p><p>How he was supposed to sleep after that revelation remained a mystery to him; nevertheless, he found himself slipping in to a restless sleep, haunted by shades of green and gold, of loving sighs and screams of suffering. </p><p>He dreamt of killing kings, of loving his sister... of a gentle hand stroking his hair and an even gentler hand wiping away his tears.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is Jaime’s party and he’ll cry if he wants to</p><p>As always, reach out to me on my main tumblr @ <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/arwyd">arwyd</a> </p><p>oh and if anyone sees my motivation someone tell that bitch she still owes me her half of this month’s rent money </p><p>♡ arwyd</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>feel free to follow me on my main tumblr, @<a href="https://arwyd.tumblr.com/">arwyd</a>, or on my tumblr dedicated especially to my fanfics, @<a href="https://arwydao3.tumblr.com">arwydao3</a>! I update on both— come yell with me about all the ASOIAF characters that deserved better! </p><p> </p><p>♡ arwyd</p></blockquote></div></div>
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